The On-Walker
by CasFellForDean
Summary: Dean, oh beloved and hated Dean Winchester, fallen and disarmed, lay six feet under, and an On-Walker comes to visit the man whom he threw all of humanities sake away for. An On-Walker, with eyes blue that once matched that of the man with green ones. Spn fic, got the idea off tumblr and it is destiel. one shot. ye. also character death. and all around sadness. so. :D


so I saw a tumblr post about dean dying and cas turing to stone above his grave. This is what happened. also I got the idea off of tumblr and stuff so not all ideas are mine exactly. but. ye. its 2am I should have gone to bed but this is the best time to write sad things. hope you like it. its a one shot. also the song used is not mine and its carry on my wayward son by Kansas. ye

**The On-Walker**

Rain.

Just plain, and cold rain. No lightening. But the dark clouds compacted under the darkness of night, described a thunder storm very well. With each cloud bounding and plummeting rain down upon the earth, casting a deeper amount of shadows against already shady areas. Puddles of blackness formed within holes in the dirt, mud and twigs kicked up to the calf of the on-walker. The only colour seemingly visible was the bright blue of the eyes, although they were rather dulled under the storm light. But they were dulled by more than just lighting.

And as the on-walker strode further and further through the darkness of the town, his gaze was fixed upon the road and rain ahead. Street lamps glistened with drops of rain and many over powered and burst into flames in the drenching weather. The flames were white and sparks danced across the air, some landing on the on-walkers trench-coat- but as he was drenched to the bones and his coat was too, they left no damage, no figure that they had ever been there.

The flames soon dispersed into the air. And each combusting street-light illuminated the on-walkers way, although he seemed just fine striding along in the dark. Well, his walking seemed just fine, same can't be said about him,though.

He finally came to a set of gates, this time the Street-lamps illuminated a set of words, engraved in gold upon the top of the gates, he didn't take time to look at the letters, and with a small _woosh_ he was on the other side of the gates. Now, if this man could teleport, he should've just teleported to his destination instead, but I suppose he wanted to see the town. Or his mind was too foggy, clouded and the thoughts all from the right left to the left instead. He couldn't think straight-well, not that he ever had.

And admits his gaze was black figures, all looming around the land and each one straying away from the light. The on-walker carried on with his stride, and as he carried on his stride began to falter more and more, coming to a more well light part of the cemetery, the on-walkers stride had become more like a struggle to get his legs moving forward. On more than one occasion he collapsed against a gravestone in a heap, and maybe he made a noise, something between groaning and crying, but each time he picked himself up, still drenched and becoming more clad with dirt every time. And each time this happened, the sky's above glowed bright with white lightening, yet there was no noise.

The on-walker finally stumbled upon a grave. Literally stumbled, as the grave was around his height from ground level, and he walked up a set of two small stairs and the grave reached to about his waist. He stood like that, the on-walker, seemingly at peace, before looking down.

'Here lies Dean Winchester

Beloved Brother, Son, and Friend

May His Soul Rest In Piece'

No year. And there was a tiny little anti-possession charm carved into the base of the gravestone in gold. The on-walker traced his fingers over it. He closed his eyes

There was no telling apart the sobbing from the now booming thunder storm. There was no telling apart the rain from the tears, although it was a giveaway to look at the on-walkers eyes. They had been, before, quite a dull blue as he walked here, but they had turned bloodshot, reddening veins and eyes puffing. His body was somewhat slumped over the gravestone, carved from black marble and square. His head hung low and his eyes were screwed shut. Body heaving with all his might every time, and tears patted to the surface of the marble and rain collected on the back of his neck like the man was comforting him, patting the back of his neck and telling him it would be okay.

His screaming could not be over-heard by the loud cackling of thunder and the down pour of rain. What he was screaming about, he knew. Although he could no longer vocalize it. He had lost that, along with pieces of himself, to the man. He had lost everything to this man and yet he never once had wondered "what if everything went wrong?" He wish he had.

He continued crying, he continued screaming, wondering why god would bring upon him such devastation. Cursing him and shouting to his hearts content. Although he had no heart for anything anymore. With a final heave of his body he managed to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks, he managed to get his voice to stop wavering and croaking under the strain of sobs breaking out. He managed to sing a little tune.

"Carry on my ...wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done". He took a small breath, steadied his breathing and sang the rest quietly, quieter than before. In his mind the thunder raged on, he could hear each and every pitter patter of rain against the damp earth and his mind began creating a light behind his eyes like a migraine, his once very blue eyes.

"Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more". And finally his sobs broke out again.

His head bowed under the weight of loss and he froze. His breathing stopped. His body turned the same colour as the marble his lover was buried beneath and his wings became visible. They began to turn black and solid, the rain visible upon the now stone feathers. Of enormous size and spanning most of the grave, curled around the gravestone like a knight guarding a kingdom, the lighting flashed in the sky and the rain began to give way not after long. The on-walker stood, forever guarding the gravestone, and beneath the early morning light, the eyes were visible admits the blackness of the marble each was made out of.

The eyes held the only colour to be seen from the winged figure, they where a bright blue, each eye seemed to glisten in a different spectrum, each holding colours and light rays, infuriating as they were to look at, they entranced and they shone, even in the dark. And throughout each day and each night, they seemed to be alive. Didn't move, never once blinked, but the eyes were trained upon the marble slab, as if forever re-reading the words etched upon it, and maybe the eyes were looking for any movement from the grave.

For the on-walker, who was no walker now, would not walk the earth, without his love by his side. Rather, he would wait upon his love's grave, to forever envision every aspect of it to his mind, to never forget how it looked, and he would not leave his lover's side, not if he wouldn't come with him

The pain was just too much to bear, for the on-walker.

**After**

Here stood the town, the town that was spectacle for so long. Made up of twists and lies and myths and stories about the most magnificent statue that lay within its cemetery. Many a tale was that the town was cursed, and the statue was a demon come to slay all of them. Others speculated that it was a hoax from a bunch of kids, who thought it might be funny to go and put things on graves. Although that didn't make much sense, as to how they ever got an angel statue into the cemetery, or why on earth it was so marvellously made.

And it is truly unknown why the statue is there. Many parents warn their children to not go to the cemetery alone, or at all, as many people who in, don't come out. Yet it is built on a flat span of earth, it is rather big and stretches from one side of the city to the next. Many have went missing, and no bodies where ever discovered.

The city even once tried to get a better look at the Angel statue, having no known records of it ever even being made, they decided to go in to the cemetery and look closer at it. They sent in a few people-scientists- and some reports were allowed to tag along to reveal anything.

They never came out.

Still, no one knows why the statue is there, they only know that if anyone tries to go near the grave, they never get out of the cemetery. And those blue eyes still are there, never blinking and always open, staring. Yet it is under deep speculation that the angel is crying, weeping for a friend or lover, because some have reported that during wild thunderstorms, they can hear someone singing, something faintly along the lines of-

"carry on...wayward son...lay your weary head...to rest...don't you cry no more..."

Although years later, years and years later, all that remained was the black dust covering the black marble slab. Someone walked up to it. Broken and black stone feathers lay scattered admits the debris. The marble slab underneath was virtually un-touched. Still bright and new-looking. They went to touch it, and the air around it rippled, but they could not touch it. They turned on their heal, wondering and finally knowing of what became of that wonderful marble sculpture. Maybe both of them had finally found their paradise, whoever they were. They hoped so.

They walked on. Kept on walking, through the creaking metal gates and overgrown grass, leaving only stone feathers behind.


End file.
